A Voice on the Wind
by California gal
Summary: In which our heroes encounter old acquaintances and run into danger...


One more time I've borrowed most of the characters in this story from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the producers of the televisi __

One more time I've borrowed most of the characters in this story from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the producers of the television series The Lost World_. I thank them._

Spoilers: This story is based on the episode from late in season one, entitled _The Chosen One_; also minor references to _Resurrection, Barbarians at the Gate, All or Nothing, _ _The Prisoner_, _London Calling, _and_ Skin Deep_. It takes place sometime after _Skin Deep_ and before _The Guardian._

I thank all of my beta readers, and especially Susan, who helped me come up with a more satisfactory ending, and who suggested the title. All errors, of course, are mine.

****

A Voice on the Wind

They walked single-file, at the steady, ground-eating pace honed during nearly two years of roaming through this wild territory, footsteps muffled by the centuries of litter on the earth beneath their feet. Little conversation was necessary, and each was lost in thought, all the while retaining that awareness needed to survive in this savage land. Weariness lay over all five, on this fourth day of their long trek, with another full day ahead before reaching the sanctuary and relative comfort of the tree house.

Veronica led the column, her golden hair swinging softly with the rhythm of her long, even stride, flyaway strands glinting when shafts of sunlight pierced the dense canopy above them. Her pack was a satchel on a strap that bisected her back and slipped between her full breasts. Veronica always traveled lighter than any of the others.

Her thoughts were on containing her disappointment. She had known the odds against success before they set out on the trek, yet she had harbored that glimmer of hope, the same hope and faith that had fueled her very existence for almost a dozen years now. Last week, a relative of Assai had returned to visit the Zanga tribe from which she had departed some years previously upon her marriage to a man from a tribe on the other side of the plateau. Veronica and Malone had gone to the Zanga village and met the woman, and upon hearing their history, Assai's cousin had told them a tale she had heard from the now dead grandfather of her husband.

That old man had regaled them of a place he had happened upon as a youth, a city of gold. The name he gave it was not "El Dorado," but something close in his native tongue, words that meant "shining village." He had been invited to remain in this fabulous place, filled with wealth and easy-living; indeed, had been refused permission to leave. However, he had grown homesick, so had escaped. The grandfather had slipped away from the shining village one night, returned to his people, and refused to tell anyone how to find the golden city, at least until his late years, when his mind began to wander. At that time he had rambled on about the "sea," and a river that flowed to this "sea" as being the key to the location of El Dorado.

Bless Ned, Veronica mused with a small smile. He had been the one to carry the story back to the others and suggest that they have a look. As excited as Veronica had been about the possibilities, the memories of how she had been tricked by the giant and his minion were too fresh, in her mind and theirs. They might have humored her, but also might not have been quite so willing to take off on this wild goose chase if Malone had not persisted.

They had never, Malone pointed out to the other three, explored all the way around the small sea–or really a very large lake–that was part of this mysterious plateau. They had crossed it, certainly, battling and defeating the "sea monster" on their way, but had never scouted the entire perimeter. Who knew, he suggested, what might be there: perhaps scientific specimens (to pique Challenger's interest), or adventure (for Roxton), or hidden gems (which caused Marguerite's eyes to light up). And if they found anything resembling a "city of gold" or some clue to it or passage off the plateau, so much the better.

So they had packed up and departed four mornings ago, with as much supplies as they could carry, hoping to find food along the way. As luck would have it, Roxton shot a fowl on the second day which they were able to roast and supplement their provisions, but still, their stocks were low and time was limited. They had found a small river entering the "sea" at its far northern reaches, and explored a few miles along it, but to no avail. Challenger collected a couple of plants, Roxton chased off some Trogs, and Marguerite found a very small chip of a sapphire; other than that the journey had been fruitless.

Behind Veronica, Ned Malone strode along, his eyes focused on the tanned shoulders and long legs of the woman ahead of him. He held his journal and a stub of a pencil, and occasionally jotted down a note so that he would not forget some thought to elaborate upon when he had the chance to sit down at the tree house and flesh out this most recent excursion.

He felt sorry for Veronica, knowing just how she had hoped against hope. Indeed, he himself had harbored small dreams that not only would they find the fabled city, but once there, would gain information about the route off this plateau. And as usual, every time he thought about that possible departure, the other thoughts occurred to him. Did he really want to leave? Of course he wanted to see his family again, to write up his stories and see them published. But

The "story dream" he had experienced some months ago under the guidance of the Zanga shaman had pretty much cured him of his ideas of returning to Gladys. He had romanticized that young woman in the dream, he knew. She had never accepted his proposal formally before he departed London with the expedition; indeed she scoffed at his lack of a history as an adventurer. It seemed his experiences on the warfront did not count in her eyes. She wanted a big, romantic swashbuckler, someone who had traveled the world, faced danger in the form of wild animals, unexplored territories–someone like Roxton, Malone decided wryly. He thought it highly unlikely that Lord John Roxton would ever give Gladys a second glance, either before this current expedition or after. Roxton liked his women quite a bit more spicy than the publisher's daughter.

In any case, it was not likely Gladys was waiting for him. He had to face that, and it was sometimes surprising how little pain that thought caused, especially once he was able to admit that he did not owe her anything. For a long time he had carried that yearning, chivalrous thought, that Gladys must surely be pining away back in London and it was his duty to remain true to her. He had gazed at her picture, imagining the reunion one day, when she would surely accept him, indeed beg him to marry her. Eventually though, another scenario would present itself in his imagination, of Gladys hurling herself into his arms, whereby he would gently put her aside and introduce his bronzed, golden-haired bride

Challenger almost stepped on Malone's heels, and the young man threw him an almost guilty glance, apologizing for his hesitation. George Challenger only smiled. He could well imagine the daydreams of the lad, following behind the beautiful young woman in the scanty costume. They had pretty much grown accustomed to Veronica's unconventional–for London–attire over the months, and most of the time hardly noticed her bare skin. But there were times even Professor George Challenger could not help but consider the golden skin, the deep blue eyes and charming countenance, just as he occasionally furtively admired the raven-haired woman walking behind him.

Another useless trek. Though not from a scientific sense. He had found a plant that Summerlee had once speculated upon, wondering whether it could possibly still exist among other supposedly-extinct species. Challenger sighed. He missed his older comrade in science. They had had their differences, but shared a love of knowledge. At times he could engage one of the others in some conversation about science, but it was not the same. None had the depth of knowledge. One thing Challenger knew for certain: if–when–they returned to London, Arthur Summerlee was going to receive full credit for all the scientific discoveries made on this expedition. And Summerlee's children and grandchildren were going to be told of their sire's courage and fortitude.

Marguerite slipped a hand into her jacket pocket and her fingers touched the cool, rough edges of the stone there. Not very damn much to show for all this walking! She would add it to her collection at the tree house, though. Cumulatively, she had a tidy fortune amassed, if she could ever get it to someplace where someone would appreciate its value and recompense her properly.

Ahead she saw a flash of gold as a sunbeam flickered off Veronica's bare head. For just a moment, Marguerite remembered the disappointment she had seen in the girl's face when it became all too apparent that either the old grandfather had been telling tales, or in his dotage he had dispensed erroneous information, or that his descendants had misunderstood. In any case, they had not found any sign of either El Dorado or a way off the plateau.

Sometimes Marguerite felt scorn for the younger woman, that she should be so intent on locating parents who had been careless and thoughtless enough to leave their child alone and go off exploring, getting themselves lost, captured, or whatever happened to them. She herself had no such interest in ever contacting the mother and father who had abandoned her to the will of various headmistresses. She had never attempted to locate them–not seriously anyway. In Germany she had idly inquired if anyone knew others with her surname, so obviously not originally English. The query had been met negatively; no one had ever heard of such a name.

Behind her, Roxton's boot crunched on some stones, and Marguerite fought the urge to turn her head. He had caught her looking at him a couple of times over the last few days, although of course she had not really been looking at him but merely in his direction. It would not do, however, for him to get any idea that she might be interested beyond a flirtation. Marguerite Krux feared few things, but Lord John Roxton terrified her. She knew that a little weakness on her part could throw her life into turmoil, that her soul would never be hers alone again.

John Roxton shifted his rifle to the other shoulder. Damn heavy thing, especially after toting it for all these miles. Oddly, he hardly noticed the pack on his back; it had become almost a living part of him, he had carried it so far and so often this last year or more. Even though the rifle had always been at hand as well, it seemed more like a separate being. He needed it to be near for sheer survival, his and the four people ahead of him. He had failed once, and one of their party was gone, seemingly forever. That would never happen again.

He saw Marguerite's slim shoulders lift and fall in a deep sigh. She had to be weary. They all were. None would complain, at least not sincerely. Marguerite had voiced her usual whines and grumbles almost from the moment they departed the tree house four days ago–nor had she responded to a suggestion that she did not need to accompany them. That was Marguerite. If she had not voiced any complaints, he would have wondered if something was wrong, or that perhaps her sweet-talking double had somehow returned.

Roxton swallowed to bury a chuckle, which he would not have wanted the woman to hear and perhaps query. It was really crazy. That double had been so willing, so soft and compliant, and she had spoken the words he wondered if he would ever hear from the lips of the real woman: I love you. Yet he also knew that the sweetly smiling, always agreeable Marguerite-double would have never interested him, or at least not for long. He had not been lying when he commented to the others how good it was to have the old Marguerite back after that dreadful adventure was over and the real woman was displaying her usual acid tongue. The woman of fire and steel was the one he wanted–and often doubted he would ever have.

"Listen!"

Veronica halted so suddenly that Malone had to put out a hand to touch her shoulder lest he bowl into her. "What?" he asked, glancing behind to see that the other three also were puzzled.

But before Veronica could speak, they could all hear it. Human voices. Distant, but definitely human voices, shouting.

"Now what!" Marguerite muttered, glancing back to make sure that Roxton heard her. Complaining always drew a sour look, one of the few ways she could retain control. She liked to keep him, as well the others of the party, guessing about her motives, about her next move. For Roxton in particular it was necessary that he not be able to anticipate her, that he never quite know what to expect next. For him to do so would undermine her resolve to avoid any sort of involvement, weaken her determination to keep this intensely desirable man at arm's length.

"A search party," Challenger murmured, coming up alongside Veronica. Though the words from afar were indistinguishable, the tone was evident. Frantic calls for something or someone, both male and female voices.

"For what?" Marguerite inquired in a louder tone, not expecting an answer as she glanced at her companions. 

For a long moment they remained still, listening. Their time in this savage land had taught them the foolhardiness of rushing into anything if they could help it. The voices were gradually coming closer.

"I guess we'd better go see," Roxton began. His head jerked around as a nearer sound caught their attention: the cry of a child, a cry of terror, off to their right, and not far.

John Roxton spun and crashed through the underbrush, shrugging off his pack and hefting his rifle to the ready as another sound filled the jungle, the shriek of a raptor over the scream of the child. He was aware that someone was right on his heels but did not look around, hearing the sounds that indicated all of his companions were following.

Marguerite, nearest Roxton when he took off, was closest as they burst into a small clearing. No conscious thought motivated her actions. She simply ran past him as he stopped to heft his weapon and seized the cowering child, virtually out of the jaws of the beast that was hovering over it. Almost at the same moment, Roxton's rifle spoke twice. The raptor shrieked one more time, and fell back, thudding to the earth.

"Good Lord!" Malone cried, staring at Marguerite and her burden. "Where did that come from?"

The little girl could not been more than three, and she clung to Marguerite, arms around the woman's neck almost tight enough to strangle, sobbing noisily. Marguerite stroked the long golden hair and spoke soothingly, looking at her companions over the tangled hair with a question in her gray-blue eyes.

"Must be who they are looking for," Veronica said, tersely. "Come on, Ned." She whirled and headed toward the ever-nearing voices which seemed to hold a more frantic tone now; they probably heard the shots. Malone followed without question, holding onto his rifle, just in case.

"There, there," Marguerite murmured, carrying the girl back toward the trail, and away from the bloody carcass.

Roxton followed, a bemused expression on his face. Challenger saw it, and knew what his friend was thinking. They had never seen Marguerite Krux display such compassion toward anyone. Of course, they had also never seen her encounter a terrified child before, either.

The child's sobs had reduced to a whimper by the time they retrieved their backpacks, but she still clung to Marguerite's neck, face buried in the dark hair at the woman's shoulders. Marguerite sat down on a fallen log, and spoke softly to the little girl, avoiding the glances of the two men. Just now she felt vaguely embarrassed and uncomfortable, and did not know what to do. Common decency required she did not thrust this terrified baby away, yet she had never before in her life held a child. She had, of course, seen other women, mothers and nursemaids, comfort frightened or hurt children. What she was doing came naturally, although not necessarily maternal instinct, she hastily assured herself. Had one of the men reached the girl first, they would be doing the same thing.

"She must have wandered away from someone's camp," Roxton suggested, pulling his canteen from the pack he had retrieved. He removed the stopper and proffered it toward Marguerite.

Marguerite accepted the flask, and gently asked the little girl if she would like a drink of water. The offer distracted the child and she released her stranglehold to turn and allow Marguerite to place the receptacle to her lips so she could take a couple of swallows.

"Bad waptor," she said then.

Roxton dropped to his haunches. "Where's your people, honey?"

The girl shrugged. "I dunno. What's your name?" She was recovering rapidly, as children often do, under the focused attention.

"I'm John. What's yours?"

"Talma. Dat bad raptor, he wuz gonna eat me. You killeded him."

"I sure did. You're too pretty to be a raptor's meal." Roxton touched the little girls wet cheek with a finger. He noticed that the distant shouting had ceased; Veronica and Malone must have reached the party. "Are your mama and daddy looking for you?"

Talma shrugged. She had noticed the silver locket at Marguerite's throat. "Dat's pretty."

"Thank you," Marguerite smiled; her fingers were automatically pulling twigs and leaves from the corn-yellow hair.

"Can I have that?" Talma inquired, her finger on the silver heart.

"No, dear. That was a special present to me, and I have to keep it."

"Oh."

Sounds of crashing in the brush momentarily alarmed Challenger, Roxton, and Marguerite, but an instant later Veronica and Malone emerged, followed by a group of people. The only woman in that trailing group hurtled forward, screaming the child's name, and seized her from Marguerite's grasp for a fierce embrace.

Both Roxton and Marguerite were staring at the remainder of the party, which seemed to include two men and a horde of children, ranging in age from about five or so up to mid teens.

"Gideon!" John Roxton and Marguerite Krux spoke the name in unison, as the young man strode toward them, grinning.

"John Roxton! I never thought I'd see you again! Marguerite!" The tall, muscular young man seized Roxton's hand, then the two men embraced. 

Marguerite was a trifle nonplussed as the youth turned from Roxton and hugged her as well. Though it had been only months since they encountered this youthful leader of the Moya tribe, he had matured greatly, she realized. It was in his stride and the lift of his head, as well as added inches and pounds. But she had not thought the youth had become particularly fond of her during their adventure together.

Roxton saw the puzzled expressions on the faces of Veronica, Malone, and Challenger, so he spoke up. "Remember the time Marguerite and I were boar hunting and we helped some people battle Goths? We told you about it–the Star of Hope. This is Gideon."

Marguerite noticed that while Veronica and Malone acknowledged the introductions, both had odd looks on their faces, and she thought she knew why. While she and Roxton were assisting Gideon defeat the brutal Goths who had tried to enslave Gideon's people, another type of adventure had been occurring at the tree house. Summerlee had related some of what he knew to Marguerite, and it involved the beautiful, mysterious woman named Kaya who had seemingly entranced Malone for a while, and apparently infected him with some sort of parasite. Summerlee had been unsure just what became of Kaya, but she was suddenly gone and the parasite had vanished from Malone's system. He only knew that the relationship between Veronica and Malone had shifted a little after that. Encountering Gideon now certainly was reminding the two younger people of that episode in their lives.

Gideon was making further introductions. The woman was his sister, Ola, and the other man was Ola's husband and Talma's father, Elric. The children were members of his tribe, and they were crossing the plateau to reach another Moya settlement and safety as they fled the Goths.

"What happened?" Roxton asked urgently. "You had the Goth chieftain Cyan as a hostage the truce?"

Gideon's young face sobered, his mouth tightening. "So long as we held Cyan hostage, all was well. His people left us alone. But a month ago Cyan's brother Tancred took Cyan from us, and it all started again. Many of our people have been captured or slain."

Veronica looked at all the children clustered around them, their young faces revealing their weariness and fear. "What is all this?" she asked, nodding toward the group. "Where are their parents?"

Elric answered this. "Leading the Goths away while we convey the children to safety. The other village is much larger, more fortified. If we get the children there, they will be safe."

Gideon said, "Elric's brother Orvin is scouting. If the Goths turn toward us, he'll warn us."

Malone glanced at Roxton and saw that the other man had the same thought: not if the Goths capture or kill Orvin first. He asked, "How far is this village?"

"Three days walk," Gideon replied, "for the children." They knew what he meant. The young legs could not walk as far or as fast as adults. "But we will make it. We must."

Marguerite was watching John Roxton out of the corner of her eye, and she knew exactly just what was happening. The same as the last time. Roxton's honor had required him to assist Gideon, after the young man's mentor assigned this task to the lord with his dying breath. Nothing Marguerite could say then would dissuade him, and they had ended up in an life-and-death battle with the vicious Goths. Only when Roxton was able to put a knife to Cyan's throat were they able to repel the horde. And Gideon had killed his own brother to save Roxton's life.

However, this time it was Challenger who made the offer. "We are on our way home, but we can make a detour. You need help."

"We cannot put you and your friends in danger," Gideon began.

"You never did learn how to listen, did you?" Roxton grinned, recalling the stubborn youth he had dealt with previously. Like Marguerite, he saw how the boy had grown since they had last seen him, both physically and mentally. "As Challenger says, you need help. We can do that."

"Mama," Talma piped up. "I'm hungry."

"Me too," wailed a little boy, probably only a year or so older than Talma, clutching the hand of a slender girl of around fifteen or sixteen.

"Shh," the girl said. "Don't fuss, Idris. We'll eat soon."

"Have you food?" Malone asked. The party was carrying very little in the way of baggage, only small leather packs on the shoulders of the three adults and the oldest girl.

"We hope to come across a deer or boar," Eldric said.

"In the meanwhile," Challenger said, "We will share what we have. It's not much, but it'll help until we can find some game."

Marguerite saw Roxton's quick glance in her direction, and she felt an emotion she seldom experienced: shame. He expected her to protest Challenger's offer. Her chagrin was quickly replaced by anger. Did he really think so little of her, to imagine that she would begrudge these poor children a meal? 

"Someone get a fire going," she said tersely, "We can make some soup with what we have left. It will stretch further." She turned her back quickly to avoid the warm smile that was creeping onto Lord Roxton's sensuous lips. He was supposed to be amazed at her apparent change of heart, not simply pleased. She was not doing this to please him. No.

Challenger was carrying the kettle in his pack, filled just now with some plant material which he gladly removed, though he carefully put the material back inside the backpack for safekeeping. Veronica and Ned gathered wood, and Veronica located a small spring to provide water. Within a short time the dried and salted vegetables and meat they had been carrying were simmering in the pot over a small fire as the children watched and sniffed the aroma eagerly. 

The next problem was something to eat the food with and in, and everyone scoured the area for rocks, pieces of wood, anything with an indentation that might hold a morsel of the soup, along with what the quintet of explorers had in their packs. It was agreed that the youngest children would eat first, then the older ones and adults could reuse the same utensils. It soon proved that with their stomachs filled with warm, tasty soup, the wee ones nestled in the grasses for naps.

When Marguerite carried the empty pot to the spring to rinse it out, Ola followed her. "I wish to thank you for saving my daughter. John Roxton told me what you did. Talma wandered off while I was seeing to the other children."

"Oh it was nothing." Such an inane thing to say. Of course it was something. Another instant and the raptor's jaws might have clamped down, before Roxton could get a shot off, or even during. She had saved Talma from serious injury, if not death. Beyond that, Marguerite did not wish to think. Certainly not about how close she herself had been to injury and possibly to death by performing such a rash act. Even now she could not really remember any conscious thought that had propelled the deed; only that she did it.

"It was," Ola smiled in comprehension of the dark-haired woman's embarrassment. "You will understand when you have children one day."

Marguerite bit back a retort to the effect that she intended to never have children. Ola's gratitude was sincere and such a remark might seem petty and mean at this moment. So she only smiled. "I'm glad I was there."

Ola was a very lovely young woman, Marguerite decided, with the same blonde hair of her daughter–and most of the tribe–and clear sky-blue eyes. Indeed, Marguerite had noticed only one person of the party with other than blue eyes, and that was a little girl of seven or eight with a very serious expression most of the time, who had dark brown eyes. Ola was slender, probably in her mid twenties, her costume the long tunic of rough fabric, with a leather belt, similar to what other adults in her clan wore.

When they rejoined the group, they learned that the men had held a conference and decided it would be best to move on, even if that meant carrying the half dozen sleeping children. Marguerite found herself with a small boy in her arms. Ola told her the child's name was Alvis, the grandson of Felan. Marguerite vividly remembered how she and Roxton had first met Felan inside the cave that Gideon led them to, where some of his people were hiding; the cave where Lucas first betrayed his younger brother to the Goths.

Veronica walked alongside Marguerite, herself toting a girl a little older than Alvis, and she was hard-pressed to keep herself from grinning at her companion. Marguerite's face was sober, pretty unreadable, but then it often was. Veronica was well aware that none of them really knew Marguerite, though she suspected the Roxton understood the brunette better than anyone. His jibes and teasing generally seemed to keep Marguerite pretty much in line, Veronica thought. He never hesitated to offer his opinion of her behavior, and though Marguerite often scowled and offered some barb in return, Veronica thought that somehow the man's words affected Marguerite Krux, whether she would ever admit it or not.

Marguerite noticed Veronica's surreptitious glances, and felt compelled to say something. "This is ridiculous. We should have just fed them and sent them on their way. Believe me, getting involved with these people is nothing but trouble."

"You're probably right," Veronica replied mildly. "I mean, why should we care if all these children end up Goth slaves, or even killed? Feeding them should be the limit."

Marguerite opened her mouth, clamped it shut again. How could she argue with that? The teenage girl was walking nearby, and she had looked around upon hearing Marguerite's words, blue eyes registering some alarm. These children were separated from their parents, none knowing whether they would see their mothers and fathers again. If nothing else, Marguerite Krux could relate to that.

"Can I walk with you?"

Marguerite looked down beside her to see the little girl with the brown eyes gazing up with her. "Why of course. Certainly." She stopped herself–again–from some sharp remark about it being a free country or something similar. Such a comment would not be comprehended by the child, but the tone might well be.

"My name is Fira. My mother is magic, too."

Both Marguerite and Veronica looked at the girl. "Too?" Marguerite echoed.

"Just like you."

"Like me! I'm not magic. Saving Talma wasn't magic." What strange ideas children could come up with!

"You glow just like my mama."

Marguerite halted. "What in the world are you talking about?" Veronica took a couple of paces and stopped as well, looking back.

"Who glows?" Veronica asked.

Fira's brown eyes opened wider. "Don't you see it?"

Because others were noticing their hesitation, Marguerite started walking again, shifting the boy in her arms. Dead weight, but warm against her body, the earthy scent of an unbathed child fresh in her nostrils. The silk blouse would need a double laundering, probably after a long soak.

Veronica had moved so that Fira was between the two women now. "What kind of glow are you talking about, Fira?"

The girl displayed exasperation with a big sigh. "Well, the glow around Marguerite, of course. I can see it. Just like I see it around my mama. She's magic, so Marguerite must be too."

####

It had been decided that the men would take turns at the point and bringing up the rear, and Roxton had walked far ahead of the band for the first hour, until Elric came to relieve him. Now he waited along the trail for the others to catch up with him. He could take his turn carrying a child; Marguerite and Veronica would be exhausted, along with Ola and the teenage girl whose name he had not gotten yet. He had to smile when he caught sight of Marguerite, the grimy child nestled against her chest. That she had not protested the plan to carry the children had both surprised and pleased him. Maybe there _was_ a heart inside that magnificent body.

Gideon was leading the troupe, with Challenger alongside him, and as Roxton joined them, Gideon suggested a rest. He put the boy he was carrying into some soft grass and others followed suit. Within a few minutes, Malone, who had been in the vanguard, caught up with them.

"Did you notice anything?" Roxton asked the young journalist.

Malone shook his head. "Not a sign. Maybe they did follow the other band."

"I'm sure they did," Gideon said, confidently. "Felan was going to leave a plain trail. Once we reach the village, we'll gather men to go out to help them."

"What's Cyan's brother like?" Roxton inquired. "This Tancred."

"Worse than Cyan," the youth replied. "He is the true leader of the Goths, but most of the tribe dislike him, so he allows Cyan to wear the crown."

"And pulls the strings behind the throne," Challenger commented.

"I'm sure it was Tancred who convinced Lucas to betray his people," Gideon said bitterly.

Challenger saw nearly identical pain on the faces of Gideon and Roxton. Both bore the guilt of slaying their own brothers, though it happened in different situations. Marguerite had been the one to tell them how Roxton had been unable to risk shooting Lucas at a critical moment, fearful of hitting Gideon, even when Gideon insisted that Roxton shoot through him to stop Lucas from escaping. The situation had been far too similar to the tragedy that had occurred years before when Roxton shot the ape that was attacking his brother, only to have the bullet pierce the beast and slay William as well. Later Gideon had killed Lucas to prevent him from crushing Roxton's head with a battle axe, just when Roxton had gained control of Cyan.

Marguerite had not put it into words at the time, but Challenger sensed then and saw now the bond between the English lord and the young Moya leader. Had the other four of them opted to not help this band, Lord John Roxton would have remained alone.

Veronica came up then, putting her hand on Malone's arm. "I'll take the rear now." A smile flashed on her pretty face. "And you can tote Alvis."

Roxton saw Gideon's glance on Veronica. He had seen the glance before, and Elric had similarly peeked at the bronzed young woman in her brief jungle attire. Elric had to be a little more surreptitious, since his wife was nearby, but Gideon had no such guard. He wondered if Gideon was beginning to think that all "foreign" women were warriors; after all, he had not been willing to accept that Marguerite was equal during their first encounter, until Marguerite displayed her courage and prowess in battle.

Roxton left them and strolled toward Marguerite, who was reclining on the grass, a small girl sitting cross-legged nearby. He sat down next to the girl who looked up at him with somber brown eyes as Marguerite introduced him to Fira.

"Did you know that Marguerite is magic?" Fira asked.

The question surprised him, and when he saw Marguerite's annoyed expression, could not resist. "She certainly is. Marguerite always manages to vanish when there's hard work to be done."

"That's not what I mean! Don't you see the glow either?"

Fira's face and words were so urgent and sincere that Roxton could not prevent a quick look at the reclining woman, half expecting to see something. The only glow, he thought ruefully, was the irritation in Marguerite's blue-gray eyes and the warmth in his own heart. "I'm afraid not," he admitted. "What do you mean?"

Fira sighed. "She is magic! You'll see. My mother has the glow, and she says one day I will too. Maybe only magic people can see it. Marguerite, do you see a glow around me?"

Marguerite had pushed herself to a sitting position. "I'm afraid not, Fira. Perhaps you're not old enough yet." 

"That's what mama said. But she didn't know how old I'd have to be."

"What kind of magic does your mother do?" Marguerite asked, ignoring Roxton's arched brows.

"Sometimes she knows what people are thinking," Fira replied seriously, and Marguerite looked off into the trees. Perhaps there was something to this. After all, she often knew what Lord Roxton was thinking. Then again, he was not particularly good at hiding the emotions within his deep brown-green eyes. "And sometimes," the girl continued, "she can think of things and make people do what she wants them to do."

"Cast a spell you mean?" Roxton inquired. Good grief, if that's all "magic" was, Marguerite was indeed a witch. She had thrown a spell of enchantment over him that first evening in Challenger's parlor back in London, perhaps earlier. That evening she had walked boldly into the all-male enclave known as the Zoological Society and coolly stated her intention of funding Challenger's expedition had piqued Lord Roxton's interest; he had heard the name Marguerite Krux previously but now became very interested in learning more about her, if only to learn about a woman with nerve enough to step inside those hallowed halls. 

Fira heaved another deep sigh over the ignorance of these adults. "Well, sort of. I mean, she doesn't have a magic powder or anything. It's all with her mind. She says I have to learn how to do that when I'm older." From across the way, Ola called to Fira, and with a quick goodbye the girl dashed off.

Marguerite saw Roxton's face grow very somber as he gazed over the band of children, most of whom were awakening now. Ola had summoned Fira to help her and the oldest girl with the even younger tots. "What do you think?" Marguerite asked quietly.

Roxton shook his head slightly without shifting his gaze. "I doubt very much if Cyan has been fooled. Some of his band might be trailing the adults, but I suspect he would want the children as well. He certainly would not want any of them to reach the other settlement to warn the people there."

Challenger had come up just as Marguerite asked her question, and he dropped to his haunches beside her. "My thoughts exactly. Gideon is so certain the Goths were fooled, I suspect he has not been as careful as he could have been. Sending Elric's brother to watch the Goths' movements is inadequate, I'm afraid."

Roxton nodded, bringing his attention to his companions now. "Even if Orvin is able to avoid capture, he could never get back to this band in time to do any good. Where would they go? These kids can't move any faster than they are now."

"At least," Challenger said, "if the Goths do attack, our weapons might dissuade him."

"Providing he doesn't have a hundred men," Marguerite put in sourly.

Roxton grinned. "Always the optimist."

When they began the trek again, most of the children were able to walk, though the adults took turns carrying the youngest for brief periods. When Veronica and Elric were relieved, both reported nothing untoward, which seemed to concern Veronica more than it did Gideon's brother-in-law.

"You didn't see anything back there either?" Malone asked as they walked on either side of Challenger.

Veronica shook her head. "Nothing at all. I made a couple forays off to each side and climbed a very tall tree. Nothing."

"Perhaps Gideon's ruse worked after all. After all, how could such a horde hide completely?" Challenger said, then shook his head after glancing at the faces of his companions. "No. It just isn't logical. From what I've heard of this Cyan, he's a clever man, and if his brother is even smarter."

"They could be well ahead of us," Veronica finished. "Setting a trap." She walked on ahead to scoop up a small boy who was displaying weariness. Ahead she could see Marguerite walking with Ola, who carried her daughter while Marguerite held the hands of a little girl and boy.

"Veronica?"

Veronica turned to look at the slender teenage girl who came up alongside her. "Hello."

"My name is Zara. I just wanted to tell you that I'm going to marry Gideon one day."

Veronica bit back a smile as she saw the sober intent on Zara's face. "I wish you happiness," she replied.

"I wanted you to know," Zara continued steadily. "Gideon may be gazing upon you with admiration, but I will fight you for him. I will fight you to the death."

Veronica swallowed and looked the opposite direction for a moment. It would not do to laugh just now. Regaining her composure, she turned to Zara. "Thank you for telling me. I will not harbor any false hopes. Gideon is a very lucky man to have a sweetheart who is both pretty and brave."

Pink spots appeared in Zara's fair cheeks. "Well I'm not really his sweetheart. Not yet anyway. But I will be."

Veronica nodded. "I know you will." If for no other reason, she mused, than there appeared to be no competition, no other girl near Gideon's age, unless of course he waited until some of the young ones matured. But in considering, she knew she had seen Gideon gaze with warm favor toward this pretty girl. Perhaps he thought of her only as a friend now, one of the people he was sworn to rule and protect, but both were very young and things could change.

She looked back at Ned Malone, a dozen paces behind now, in a somber conversation with Challenger. Could things change there, as well? Change how? At times since the explorers had literally fallen onto the plateau, Veronica had thought of Malone as simply a dear friend. Other times, however, she wanted him as more than a friend. They had kissed several times, a couple of times merely as a diversion on her part. 

Malone had remained behind a few months ago when Challenger and dear Summerlee thought that the upper level wind patterns might carry the balloon off the plateau. She never quite understood her own reaction when he abruptly appeared and stated that everyone else had departed. She had been angry, but did not know why. The opportunity to explore those emotions never came as the half-reptile-half-man creature Tribune abruptly appeared, plunging them into the adventure that nearly cost all the men their lives, and did cost Summerlee's.

Roxton, who had been on the point, returned to report that he had found a good place to spend the night, alongside a stream but on slightly higher ground so that they might be able to survey the area better. It was about two miles ahead, and judging by the appearance of the children, that would be about all they could manage for the day. He asked Veronica and Malone to attempt to find some game, and the pair gladly agreed.

Upon reaching the camping place, the children at first were too weary to do anything but loll about and watch the adults prepare fires and begin the meal. Before long, however, their natural exuberance overcame fear and fatigue, and they were racing about the area, with Zara and one of the oldest boys, a sturdy lad of around twelve or thirteen named Doron, attempting to keep them corralled.

Veronica and Malone soon returned with the carcass of a small deer-like animal native to the plateau, and Roxton set about dressing it for the evening meal while the pair set off again to locate some herbs and wild vegetables to complement the meal. Roxton saw Marguerite kneeling by the stream, apparently attempting to lave away some of the day's dust, and he half thought about calling to her to help him, knowing just how much she despised this particular chore, but held his tongue as he saw Gideon approach the dark-haired woman and crouch down beside her.

Marguerite looked around in surprise, then smiled at the young man. "Hello, Gideon."

"Marguerite, I've come to apologize."

Her eyes widened slightly. "For what?"

"When we first met, I spoke rather disrespectfully to you. I assumed you were merely Roxton's mate, helpless in battle as many females are. You proved that wrong, several times."

Marguerite gazed at him, remembering all too well when the youth had rashly attacked a trio of apemen who might have otherwise passed by their hiding place. She had had to kill one of the beasts with her pistol to save her life, and the loathsome creature had fallen dead across her body, increasing her rage. When both she and Roxton had tried to explain to Gideon that he should have left well enough alone, he was scornful, claiming that as a warrior it was his duty to attack and that a woman could never understand such a thing.

Out of the corner of her eye, Marguerite saw that Lord Roxton was a good thirty feet away, placing the meat on a spit, out of earshot. "Don't forget," she said softly, "I was very much against helping you at all." She would never want Roxton to hear her even halfway admitting her error.

"But you did help. You fought the Goths as well as any man. Without you, we would not have stood a chance. Even" He halted, his eyes trailing out over the clear, swift water of the stream, but obviously not seeing it.

Marguerite touched his hand a moment. "You did what you had to do, Gideon. John Roxton would not be alive today if you had not acted. I thank you for that." Again, she was saying things she would not wish Roxton or any of her companions to hear, but it was unlikely the youth would repeat them. Talking about his brother's death was painful for him, just as it was for Roxton.

Ola strolled up then and asked Marguerite to help with scrubbing the children as best they could. Marguerite opened her mouth to refuse, to declare she had had quite enough interaction with the grubby youngsters for the day, but then noted the weariness in Ola's eyes. Oh well. Bathing babies was as foreign to Marguerite Krux as had been holding one, but she agreed. How hard could it be?

"I don't believe that," Veronica murmured, witnessing the remarkable event as she deposited the bundle of parsnip- and carrot-like roots alongside the fire.

Roxton glanced around from the spit he had fashioned over the flames. "Strange things happen on this plateau, you know."

"It's too bad we don't have Challenger's camera," Ned Malone commented, pulling out his journal book. "But maybe I can sketch it."

"If you do," Roxton rejoined, "Don't ever let her see it."

Down by the stream, Marguerite Krux shrieked with laughter as the small boy splashed the cold water on her. She and Ola had persuaded the children to play a game of standing in the shallow stream and seeing how much water they could cup in their hands to bring to their faces. Without soap, only the outer dust was being sufficiently removed, but it helped. The afternoon sun was warm and dried their skin quickly, though the coarse cloth of their short garments remained damp. Once the bathing was done, Ola gathered the youngsters around her to sit quietly and listen to a tale she narrated while waiting for the meal to be ready.

Finally the call came to eat. Veronica had scraped the bark off of a broad log, and covered it with wide leaves. On this the meat and vegetables were spread out, and without worrying about niceties, each simply grabbed chunks of food and ate. By the time the meal was completed–and the children cleaned up again–the young ones were ready to curl up on the grass and sleep.

####

When Veronica returned from her outpost duty in the early morning hours, she roused both Malone and Marguerite; Malone to take her place patrolling the outer perimeter and Marguerite for her turn as camp sentry, so that Elric could get a few hours of sleep. She was a little surprised when Marguerite did not voice her usual grumbling upon being awakened, although Marguerite always stood her watch without fault. Veronica had once caught John Roxton dozing off while on sentry duty, but never Marguerite. She always wondered whether it was from sense of duty, or a sense of self-preservation.

The half moon was lowering in the eastern sky as Marguerite sat down on the large rock at the perimeter of the camp, a location where one could watch not only the sleeping travelers but see into the distance a long way around. The only blocked view was a hundred feet or so downstream, where a number of very tall trees clumped together, and Malone would be checking that area as he circled the camp at several hundred yards. The small forest was far enough away with a clear area between that even if someone tried to use it as shelter, they would be seen before they could reach the camp itself. Roxton had chosen well.

Lord Roxton was sleeping about a dozen feet from her. The adults were in a larger ring around the small fire, with the children inside. He had taken one of the early watches, she knew, but she had fallen asleep so quickly after hitting the ground she had been unaware of any activity in and around the camp. Roxton was on his stomach, head resting on one arm, his hat laying nearby, and his rifle alongside.

Marguerite expelled a long, soft sigh. She wished he was not so damned attractive. She wished that for one single night she might fall asleep without the unbidden thoughts about how it might feel to sleep in his arms. If she could believe that doing so would have no future consequences, she might try to seduce him one night. To do so would be easy, she knew. That night they lay beside each other in a tent after exploring the snowy mountains above them, when his not-so-subtle suggestions of sharing blankets merely for warmth burst so quickly into flame, before the sudden arrival of the Norse-like warriors and the woman chief who killed John Roxton with her broadsword. Marguerite suppressed the shudder that arose with the memories of that horror.

The possibility of those damn future consequences, for him and, more importantly, for her, prevented her from making any moves, especially now that she was so aware of what his kisses could do to her. Perhaps once they were back in England, when she would have means of escape

A movement in the camp caught her notice, and Marguerite straightened. One of the little boys, Idris, had risen from the ground and was walking toward the opposite side, down toward the creek. An instant later, Fira stood up and followed him, a few paces behind.

Alarmed, Marguerite grabbed her rifle and skirted all the sleepers, hurrying after the pair. "Fira!" she whispered as loudly as she dared. "Idris! Stop!"

Fira slowed to let Marguerite catch up, then caught her hand. "He's walking in his sleep. We mustn't wake him."

"What?" The boy had reached the bank of the stream and was now walking steadily toward the trees. "We must stop him!"

"Mama says it can be harmful to wake someone like that." Fira tugged at Marguerite's hand. "We should just watch him."

Marguerite hesitated. Malone was out there, patrolling near the trees, of course. He would have raised an alarm if any danger approached. Somewhere she had heard or read something similar to what Fira said, she knew, that it was best to let a sleepwalker waken naturally. Well, very likely he would step on something in his bare feet which would rouse him. Keeping Fira's hand in hers, she followed after the boy.

####

The screams jerked John Roxton awake instantly. Grabbing for the rifle that lay beside him, he scrambled to his feet as the others in the camp were also brought alert, some quickly, some striving to comprehend what was going on. Two children were racing toward the ashes of the campfire, the girl Fira dragging a boy behind her. She was doing most of the screaming, her face wet with tears and stark with horror. The smaller boy seemed more dazed, though he was sobbing.

Roxton stared around the camp. The early morning light allowed him to see pretty clearly that no invaders were rushing in. No predators appeared to be pursuing the youngsters. Ola and the older girl caught the children and tried to soothe them, to find out what was wrong.

Where the devil was Marguerite? 

The realization of her absence hit him like a blow in the stomach. Marguerite had her faults, but she would never be remiss in her sentry duty; she was far too aware of the dangers on this damnable plateau. If she had stepped out of sight for personal reasons, the noise of the children should have brought her back immediately.

Veronica moved beside him and voiced the question. "Where's Marguerite?"

"I don't know," Roxton growled, and headed toward the two youngsters, who were barely calmer. "What happened?" He directed the query toward Ola, but Gideon, nearby, answered it.

"Something has happened to Marguerite," the youth said grimly.

Roxton's first impulse was to grab Fira and shake the information from her, but he restrained himself. Veronica touched his arm. "I'll go look." She started off at a trot in the direction from which the two children had emerged, with the troubled awareness that Ned Malone had not come running toward the commotion.

Fira was hiccuping sobs now, but she seemed to be gaining control of herself, clinging to the kneeling Ola's neck tightly, while Zara held Idris. The little girl looked up toward Roxton.

"They said we must all come back, or they will kill Marguerite and Ned."

Now Roxton dropped down to one knee, reaching out to take the girl's hand. "Who, Fira? Who said that?"

"The bad man."

Slowly the story emerged. Fira and Marguerite had followed Idris, who had been walking in his sleep, down to the creek and followed the bank toward the grove of trees. They had just entered among the trees, where it was so much darker, when several men jumped out, seizing them all, placing hands over their mouths so they could not cry out. Then Marguerite had been bound and gagged and all three carried further away, among some rocks, where Ned Malone was already a captive.

There the "bad man," whom Fira made clear was the former Moya hostage Cyan, and another man Fira did not know, had instructed her to wait until the sky began to lighten, then return to the camp. They were to deliver the message that if all of Gideon's people did not surrender to the Goths, the man and woman would be killed. They had until the sun was at its zenith to comply. A threat that someone would be watching them persuaded the two children to obey the instructions. There was also a warning that if anyone followed the raiders, the prisoners would die. One other piece of information was that Orvin, Elric's brother, was also a prisoner. He would be killed along with the others.

John Roxton felt cold all over as he slowly got to his feet, scarcely aware of the return of Veronica and of Challenger's voice explaining to the young woman what they had just learned. He knew every adult, and some of the children, were watching him. He knew this would be his decision, and his alone.

"Roxton!" Veronica's hand on his shoulder finally caught his attention and he looked at her. "I found tracks and Marguerite's rifle. They went into the water, and they had to have gone upstream. They could not have passed us here without someone hearing them."

"We'll get our gear and go after her," Challenger said, starting toward the spot he left his pack.

"No."

Challenger stared at the grim-faced man. "Good God, John, you don't mean to abandon Marguerite and Malone!"

Gideon said, "They mustn't die because of us, John. We'll go back."

"No." Roxton said the word again, even more firmly. "Challenger, you and Veronica continue to escort Gideon and his people. I'll go after them."

"Not by yourself," Veronica stated. 

"John," Gideon said, coming to face the taller, older man. "You have done enough for us. We were foolish to try to escape. We cannot sacrifice their lives, or yours. We will surrender to the Goths, and so will the remainder of our people once they know we have been captured again. I'm sure that's Tancred's ultimate plan."

"No, damn it!" Roxton faced the group, his face stark and angry. "I'll find them. You continue on toward the safety of your other village."

"You are not going alone," Veronica's voice and face revealed she was not going to be turned away.

Roxton knew he did not have time to argue with her, and that it would likely be useless anyway; Veronica had a strong stubborn streak. "George, you will be needed to help with the children and keep them moving. Don't bother to set guards. The adults carry the smallest children and move as fast as you can. Listen to me!" Challenger had started to open his mouth in protest. "Do you want these children to become slaves of the Goths? They are vicious beasts. Marguerite and I experienced their brutality firsthand. She would not want the Goths to have these kids, nor would Malone. And very likely Cyan and Tancred will kill Gideon, maybe the other adults here as well. And he won't let the hostages–or us–live long either."

Elric said, "I would like to come with you, to help my brother."

Challenger spoke before Roxton could. "Elric, you are needed here. You have a wife and child who need your assistance. While I do not necessarily condone these two going off to face God knows how many, it is at this moment the best and only plan."

Roxton flashed the scientist a look of gratitude. "Veronica, show me where you found the tracks."

The blonde woman nodded grimly and started off. Roxton went to follow her but after a few steps a small hand tugged at his shirt. He looked down at Fira's somber face. "Don't worry. I'll bring them back safely."

"I know you will." She scrubbed some of the tears off her cheek. "Just listen to what Marguerite tells you. She'll tell you the way."

Roxton had to smile slightly, and he touched his hand to the girl's tangled curls. "I always listen to what Marguerite tells me. Go on now. See you soon."

####

Marguerite held her hands as still as she could. Her wrists had been bound for several hours and the rough cord was biting painfully into her flesh. At least they had removed the coarse cloth that had been stuffed in her mouth for a while, and even given her a brief swallow of water to relieve the dryness.

She leaned back against the rough, cold wall of the small cave, and closed her eyes momentarily. How stupid they all had been! The Goths had been close by all along, cleverly remaining just out of sight of the sentries as they traveled. Even Veronica and Roxton, experienced in such things, had not caught sight of them. Marguerite knew that Roxton and the others had been looking out for a large band of Goths. Cyan and Tancred traveled with only four other men, making it easier to hide themselves, and had only waited for their moment, which came last night when Idris wandered out of camp.

Opening her eyes, she looked toward the mouth of the cave, where the six Goths were squatting, talking among themselves. Orvin, bound even more securely than herself, was also in the cave. His cuts and bruises revealed the treatment he had received thus far. Tancred had informed her that Orvin would be slain first, to show her friends and Gideon that they meant business. He also grinned hideously and said that even if the Moya band surrendered, all of the outsiders would be killed, including her, although his leer suggested he had other plans for her first.

She looked down at the man sprawled on the cave floor, his wrists tied behind his back. Malone had foolishly struggled and Tancred had hit him with the hilt of his sword. Marguerite had at first feared that the blow had been fatal, but she eventually saw Malone's chest rise and fall and his eyelids flutter occasionally.

Cyan had remembered her, and he also remembered Roxton, whom the Goth referred to as her "mate." Since they had been traveling together, that was to be expected; after all, even Gideon had thought that Marguerite was Roxton's woman when they first met. And perhaps she was, though not in the sense they meant. Cyan wanted vengeance against the man who had captured him months ago. He talked about slicing off the heads of the other outsiders, but for her man, death would not be so quick and easy.

"Will your man come?" Orvin spoke very quietly from the other side of the cave.

"He won't desert the children," Marguerite replied softly. Was that true? Would he abandon her–as everyone else in her life had abandoned her–to the bestiality of these cruel Goths? Did he have a choice?

His honor would be sorely tried, she mused. The honor and nobility that required him to accept the title that only served to remind him of the tragedy which handed him the lordship in the first place. The honor and nobility that caused him to act as protector to everyone in the stranded group, and that had caused him to suffer perhaps more than anyone else with the loss of Summerlee. She knew Roxton now must feel he had failed–again. 

That same honor had led him to help Gideon months ago, and would insist he aid the band of children that were with Gideon now. A dozen children were worth far more than one woman, especially a woman who had rejected him time and again. He owed her nothing.

The tears that sprang to her eyes were painful, and Marguerite leaned her head back again, squeezing her eyes shut to try to stem them. Lord John Roxton owed her nothing, beyond the honor that might cause him to try to rescue her. He owed her nothing, but he owned her heart. Why hadn't she ever been able to tell him that? 

"Are you all right?" Orvin's gentle query cut through the pain and grief.

She opened her eyes, taking a deep and ragged breath, and managed a wan smile. "As all right as I could be. How about you?"

"There's nothing that doesn't hurt," the young man replied with his own wry grin. "But for the moment, I'm alive. When they grabbed me two days ago, I thought I was dead right there."

"But they kept you as a hostage."

"Yes. I thought I would be a great spy." He shook his head a little, and winced. "I am a farmer, not a spy."

_And I'm a fool._ Marguerite stared toward the brightness at the entrance. She could not see the sun, but knew it was rising inexorably higher. Noon was the deadline. How far away was that? An hour? Two hours? That might be how long Orvin had to live, and her life and Malone's would not continue much beyond that. She hoped she would have the opportunity to decide her own fate, and she would if the chance came, rather than submit to Tancred. There had been times in her life when she would have considered the other option, of trying to convince the Goth to keep her alive because of her charms. Somehow, this time, life did not really seem worth continuing.

_Oh, John! I'm so sorry! I wish I could tell you know what you mean to me, what you've long meant to me! I want you to come, and I want you to stay away! I could not bear to see you in the hands of Cyan, knowing what he would do to you. I need you so much! Please come! Please help me. But please stay away!_

The shadow across the entrance to the cave cut into her thoughts, and Marguerite glared at the burly man who looked down at her. Tancred was older and larger than his brother. The cruelty Gideon mentioned fairly glittered in his eyes. Here was a man who enjoyed inflicting pain, who reveled in the fear he saw in others. He would never see fear on her face.

"The time is drawing near," Tancred growled. "I've sent a man to see if Gideon and your people are obeying my command."

"You didn't need to do that," Marguerite replied icily. "I told you earlier that my man would not allow Gideon to surrender to you. Not even for my sake."

Tancred dropped to his haunches in front of her. "I heard that your man is a hellish warrior. But apparently he is a fool as well." His grimy hand reached toward her face, and Marguerite jerked her head away from his fingers. He chuckled, then grabbed her jaws in his hand, pushing her head back against the stone. "A fool indeed. A woman of great beauty with great fire. No, he won't give you up. Not for those brats."

Releasing her, he stood up, looking down at her, then nudged Malone's still form with his foot. "The sun rises slowly. There is time. But he had best hurry." He left the cave.

Marguerite squeezed her eyes shut again. The sudden move by Tancred had caused her to bite her tongue slightly, and she tasted the salty blood in her mouth, felt the stinging pain. But the ache in her soul was greater.

_I don't want to die, John. I want you so badly. I want to feel your arms around me, your lips on mine. I want to see that wonderful smile, those eyes that can hide nothing. Please John! Come for me! But stay away!_

####

John Roxton walked slowly, willing himself to caution rather than the haste his brain kept screaming at him to make. He forced himself not to think of Marguerite in the hands of those barbarians, of what they could be doing to her even while they awaited the deadline of noon.

His eyes scanned the ground along the bank of the stream; Veronica was on the other side doing the same. How far had the Goths traveled before emerging from the water? He and Veronica had walked for better than two miles now, he knew. The current was growing swifter, the ground rising. Ahead he saw cliffs and rock formations. Were they up there? It would seem a logical hiding place. If so, how the hell would they find them? The ground was hard, the Goths wore soft-soled boots. The boots Malone and Marguerite wore might make more of an impression, and even if one was being carried, the additional weight should cause a deeper indentation. But not necessarily in hard rock!

Roxton paused to scoop some water into his hand to bring it to his mouth, glancing at Veronica who paused as well, though she did not drink, her eyes continuing the scan the surrounding area. Despite the brightness of the day, her dark blue eyes held a shadow, and Roxton knew her concern for the safety of the journalist was deep, perhaps as much as his own for Marguerite. The morning sun was warm, and noon was less than three hours away. How in the hell were they going to find them, with no sign to follow, in all this wilderness? They could be anywhere! Anywhere!

_John!_

The word, the voice seemed so close to his ear that Roxton spun away from the bank, startled, and nearly lost his balance. Damnation! That had been Marguerite's voice. But she was nowhere in sight, nor was anyone else. He stared toward the scrubby brush beyond.

"What is it?" Veronica asked, noticing his consternation.

His eyes dropped to the stream bank, and he saw a slight mark. Going to it, he leaned over, and immediately recognized what it was. A boot heel, deliberately ground into a very small patch of mud at the edge of the water, just before it became granitic rock.

_Just listen to what Marguerite tells you. She'll tell you the way._

Roxton shook himself mentally. It had been his imagination, pure and simple, his mind so fully concentrated on the woman, he had thought he heard her voice. Granted, she rarely addressed him by his given name, but his subconscious likely reproduced what he wanted to hear. At least by turning this direction, he had spotted what he might have missed. The band had emerged from the water here.

"Over here," he said, and Veronica quickly waded the stream to where he was kneeling down to peer at the rocky surface. "Look at this." 

"They were here," Veronica confirmed.

Almost invisible marks seemed to indicate the band had headed east and both realized they had no choice but to follow them. After a couple hundred yards into the rock-strewn area that led up toward some cliffs, Roxton was pretty certain they were on the right track. It appeared that once they had put some distance between themselves and the water, the Goths were less careful, and the experienced eyes of the two hunters picked up the sign. Interestingly, there appeared to be not more than six or seven men, total, besides boot marks left by the two captives, and one of those leaving sandal prints could be Orvin. 

"It might be a trap," Veronica suggested after a moment.

"We don't have a choice." 

She just nodded and kept moving. Time was running out. Very likely Cyan and Tancred had a spy to watch to see what Gideon's band did, and as soon as word came back that the children were continuing on their way. Well, she did not wish to think about that. She was just glad for the stroke of luck that had caused Roxton to notice the barely visible sign on the stream bank.

A short while later, as they paused to drink from Roxton's canteen, Veronica heard a sound. Unsure of what it had been, and unwilling to take any chances, they ducked behind a nearby rock, Roxton placing his rifle on the ground and drawing his knife. At this point, a gunshot would be the last thing they wanted heard echoing off the cliff walls.

When the man sauntered past them, heading toward the cliffs, Roxton moved swiftly, coming up behind and wrapping his arm around the lower part of the man's face to cut off any outcries, he rammed the knife into the flesh. With a grunt, the man sagged. Grimly, Lord Roxton withdrew the knife and allowed the man to sink to the ground. He did not need to check to know the Goth was dead. Without a second thought he pulled the corpse off to the side and tumbled it into a shallow ravine.

"He was probably on his way back from that knoll," Veronica said in a low voice, motioning off toward the east. 

Roxton nodded as he gazed toward a promontory that doubtless offered a fine view. "Very likely from that vantage point he could have seen the band of Moya children. This guy would have seen them still heading toward the village. Wonder how many it leaves up there?" He looked up toward the rocky cliffs. Would have been nice to take the scout alive, but he had known he could not take the chance of an outcry, and the sudden appearance of the man had afforded them no time to make plans.

"Depends," Veronica replied. "Depends on whether they left men waiting here while they grabbed Malone and Marguerite." It was becoming harder and harder to remain patient. The sun was climbing relentlessly toward its zenith; from what she had heard of the Goths, it was unlikely they would give quarter. "What do you want to do?"

Roxton took a deep breath. "I have no doubt our friend here was supposed to report back to Cyan and Tancred what he saw. When he doesn't return, they are going to wonder. We have a little time to play with. Let's try to get closer and figure out just where they are."

####

Marguerite heard angry words and watched the three men squatting at the mouth of the cave; two other men were out of her line of vision. Close to an hour had elapsed since a man had been sent to check on the status of the Moya party, and now Tancred was arguing with Cyan over what to do since that man had not returned. Cyan's part seemed to be taunting his elder brother for sending an untrustworthy man–something he had warned against–while Tancred was simply angry about failure to follow orders.

"He probably fell asleep in the sun," Cyan sneered. "Bogon is known to do that. I told you"

His elder brother cut him off. "Then you go find him. If he's asleep, kill him. Bring back the information I want. Go!"

Marguerite saw Cyan rise slowly, his face revealing his conflict of emotions, whether to defy his brother or obey. With a growl, he turned and vanished. Tancred chuckled and said something to the remaining man, but in a voice too low for her to catch the words. The other man smiled uneasily. 

In the meantime, she resumed the task at which she had been involved for the better part of last hour, using her teeth in an attempt to loosen the knot in the rope around her wrists. It was harder than she had imagined it would be. The very roughness of the rope fibers seemed to increase the strength of the knot, and the sore spot on her tongue where she had bitten it did not help matters any. Plus she had to be careful to do it only when no one was in a position to peer into the cave, which had been the case with Cyan before he departed; he had been sitting facing the cave opening. 

Malone had roused a while ago, but was still groggy. He had pushed himself to a half sitting position against the cave wall, but said little after asking where they were. Orvin's wrists were bound behind him as well, so he could not be of any help with her efforts to loosen her bonds, other than to try to keep watch. The hiss of warning from the young Moya man earlier had allowed her time to drop her arms just before Cyan entered a while ago to check on them. Marguerite was not at all certain what she could accomplish against four burly men, but her chances would certainly be a hell of a lot better than with her hands tied.

"Do you think someone has come?" Orvin whispered. 

Marguerite looked at him. "What do you mean?" She kept her tone very soft as well.

"Tancred's men fear him greatly. They would not dare disobey an order, despite what Cyan says."

Marguerite did not reply immediately. Could it be possible? Would her friends have abandoned Gideon's band to come to her rescue? Just as quickly, the flicker of hope died. No. The answer was no. At least not yet. They would see the children to safety first. Challenger's sense of the right, John Roxton's nobility they would know that innocent children were far more important than the woman who caused them so much grief over the last couple of years. Veronica might be rash enough to try, for Malone, but the two men would have at least tried to talk her out of it. One young woman, despite her skills, would not be much of a match against these men.

"Are you all right?" Malone asked softly, and Marguerite realized she had stopped gnawing on her ropes and had heaved a great, noisy sigh.

She managed a smile. "I'm a little out of sorts, but as fine as I can be under these conditions. How are you feeling?" 

"My head hurts like hell." He was silent a moment. "I don't think they'll come." Marguerite did not like to hear her own thoughts verified, but she did not protest.

"They must not," Orvin said flatly. "The children are more important."

Malone was gazing at Marguerite. "It's the only thing they can do. I wouldn't want those kids in the hands of these brutes. If the Goths attack them, Roxton, Challenger, and Veronica will be all that stands between them and capture. Gideon and Elric could not manage to fight them off alone."

"I have no doubt you are right," Marguerite said as lightly as she could muster. "Seems we are on our own." With her eyes on the cave entrance, she began to work on the knots again.

####

"It's Cyan!" Roxton hissed as he peered around the rock, drawing back quickly. "We need to try to take him alive."

"And quietly," Veronica whispered back.

That meant swift action. She was a little surprised and pleased to see how easily Roxton tacitly concurred. He jerked his head, and she knew what he wanted. She backed away from their hiding place, cut through the spaces between some large boulders until she was behind Cyan, then crossed to the other side, swiftly finding a spot opposite Roxton. The Goth was moving slowly, almost reluctantly, a scowl on his face. She saw him glance back up toward the cliffs a couple of times as she waited, his lips moving in obviously angry mutters.

As soon as Cyan took two steps passed their position, Roxton stepped out and used the same tactic as with the previous man, clamping his hand around Cyan's mouth. This time, however, no knife, at least not in the same way. Veronica jumped out and used the butt of her knife against Cyan's temple, just hard enough to stun him. They wanted him to be able to talk in short order.

They dragged the groggy man off to the side, well out of view from the cliffs. Roxton pulled off his belt and used it to secure Cyan's hands in front of him, and gave his handkerchief to Veronica to stuff in the prisoner's mouth.

"I'm pretty sure he came from that ledge up there," Veronica said, and Roxton knew what she meant. They couldn't see any movement, but the lip that jutted out from the sheer face of the cliff walls appeared to be an excellent vantage point to hole up and be able to watch the surrounding area, if it was wide enough. "Hope I didn't hit him too hard," she commented, surveying Cyan's face as he sagged on the rock they had propped him up against; his eyes were still shut.

"I don't think so." Roxton opened his canteen and splashed some water on Cyan's face. The action obviously startled their prisoner, and his eyes flashed open. New surprise washed over his countenance as he recognized his captor.

"It's me," Roxton said, laconically, pulling the knife from the scabbard at his hip. He placed the sharp blade against Cyan's throat. "And once more, I have you at a disadvantage with no Lucas to even attempt to save you." His words grew taut and bitter with the memory of that incident, of the pain it had caused Gideon. Cyan's influence had turned Lucas against his people, had caused the incident that led to Gideon slaying his own brother. John Roxton, of all people, understood that pain.

Even in his situation, Cyan's eyes swept over Veronica in overt admiration. She ignored the near leer. "This is the leader?"

"One of them. Though from what we've heard, he's the lackey now," Roxton responded, tauntingly. "Running his big brother's errands." The situation was obvious. Tancred had sent his brother to find out what happened to the first man. He pushed the blade closer in to the flesh of Cyan's neck, and was rewarded by a brief flash of fear.

"Do you want to die, Cyan? I spared you once before, to give the Moya a hostage. I'm willing to do it again. Do you want to be a living hostage or a dead messenger boy?"

Cyan glared at him, glanced at the hard, angry face of Veronica, then his expression softened slightly and his shoulders moved in a light shrug.

"If you make one sound of warning," Roxton warned in a deadly tone, "Your body is going to be minus a head." He nodded to Veronica, who reached in and pulled the cloth from the prisoner's mouth. She was holding her knife at the ready as well.

Cyan licked his lips. "So you have returned. I have your woman. Or has she been replaced?" He flicked his gaze toward Veronica again, the leer returning for only an instant as his eyes met her icy ones.

"How many men are with your brother?" Roxton demanded.

"Twenty." The knife blade moved slightly and drew blood. Cyan flinched, but otherwise did not move. "Count them yourself," he growled.

"Pretty obvious not many," Veronica said smoothly. "Otherwise, why exaggerate? I'd say no more than three or four, if that many, considering the tracks we followed and the fact that we've already taken care of one man."

"The choice is yours, Cyan," Roxton said in that deadly tone. "A living hostage or a dead man."

Veronica watched the pair, and felt the palpable hatred between them. Cyan would hate Roxton for defeating him, and she knew from what Marguerite had informed them of that incident last year that Roxton had suffered considerable anguish from what happened with Gideon and Lucas, and that the lord blamed the Goths. Even Marguerite had been upset. Veronica smiled inwardly. Perhaps she should not say "even Marguerite," because she knew too well that whatever other faults she possessed, Marguerite cared for this man. Marguerite's eyes had been agate stones when she related the incident to Veronica and Malone one evening when Challenger and Roxton were out hunting.

Cyan's mouth formed a sneer. "My brother will not turn over your woman and the two men in exchange for me." 

Roxton glanced at Veronica quickly. This was the first indication that all three were still alive, and he saw the relief flicker in her face that mirrored what he was experiencing. He also suspected that Cyan's words were true. A man like Tancred would not harbor any particular "brotherly love" for his sibling. Power was more important.

"Then suppose you just tell us where they are."

The movement caught both Veronica and Roxton by surprise. Cyan had been so quiet, so docile, with the knife at his throat that neither expected a move, not at that instant. But the man abruptly twisted his body, swinging his bound arms toward Roxton, his feet toward Veronica. While Roxton did not lose his hold on the knife as Cyan's fists struck his forearm, the advantage of the knife to the throat was lost. Veronica had been on her knees, and when the lower part of Cyan's legs rammed into her hip, she went over to one side, her arm and hand striking against a small sharp rock. Her hand flew open and the knife dropped out.

Cyan grabbed that knife and immediately threw himself toward Roxton, the knife poised to plunge into the hunter's chest. Roxton managed to get his left arm up as he fell backwards, Cyan atop him, but only to take the blade as it sliced into the flesh of his upper arm. Cyan's knee, fortuitously or by design, drove Roxton's right arm to the ground, pinning it and the knife uselessly. He grunted in pain, fighting against the shock of the agony, using the hand of the wounded left arm to grab Cyan's wrist. Cyan clutched both hands around the hilt of the knife and bore the weight of his body against Roxton's one hand.

Veronica scrambled to her feet, and assessed the situation instantly. If she jumped on Cyan, she would not necessarily stop him from plunging the knife, and indeed her added weight might be all that was needed to accomplish his deadly task. Instead her hands moved swiftly behind her, drawing the two hidden blades from the waistband of her loincloth. Without a second's hesitation, she plunged both blades into Cyan's back.

The man stiffened in pain and shock and his mouth opened, eyes widening, but no sound other than a gagging groan emanated from his throat. He started to topple into Roxton, but was pushed aside. John Roxton scrambled to his feet, right hand clutching the severely bleeding left arm.

"Damn it!"

"I'm sorry," Veronica said, "I didn't know how else to stop him. There wasn't time to look for a rock"

Surprised that she misread his curse, Roxton shook his head. "No. I owe you my life, Veronica. There was no other way. I'm angry because I allowed him to fool me. I should have known" He shook head again, this time in disgust. "Now what do we do? We have no idea where they are!"

Once again the body was disposed of by tipping it into a nearby ravine. Veronica used Roxton's handkerchief to bind his wound as best she could, closing the slicing gash, slowing the bleeding considerably. It was not extra deep, but several inches long and she could see by the whiteness around his clamped mouth that it was painful.

"Tancred's going to be wondering about Cyan," Roxton said, closing his canteen after both had a long drink. "Where the hell are they?"

Veronica had been peering around the rock that hid them from view from anyone in the area of the high cliffs. "I think I was right."

Roxton moved to peer over her shoulder. "Where?"

"See that shadow just above the ledge? You can almost see an opening, like a cave."

"Yes. I think you may be right. And there, down below, to the right, where the darker stones are. Looks like a path, a narrow sloping ledge that leads up to it."

For a long moment, both were silent, gazing at the stone face of the high scarp, each wondering if they were merely seeing what they hoped they would see. The shadows and coloring of the stone made depth indiscernible. Was it really a ledge deep enough to hide several men, or just a crack? That other shadow, could it be a cave or merely a depression in the stone?

"We don't have a choice," Veronica said then.

Roxton nodded. "Trouble is, there's no way to get up there without being spotted. They'd see us coming up the path, and we need to know the layout."

"Look. Off to the left. See that indentation. It looks like a spring–more like a damp trickle–is flowing there. There's some greenery. I should be able to use the brush along with the rocks to scale it, and I'll be able to see what's going on. It's deep enough to hide me. I can signal you when they are looking elsewhere, and how many there are. Give me your mirror."

Roxton reached into his discarded backpack and dug out the signal mirror that they all had taken to carrying since Challenger came up with the idea some time back. Veronica had easily learned the Morse code. "I'm going to move over to the right," he said, "and try to find a place among that scrabble of boulders that will give me a good vantage point."

Veronica started to leave, then paused, looking back at the man, seeing the deep concern on his handsome face. "It's going to be all right," she said.

An expression of surprise flashed on his features, and then he smiled. "I know it is. Get going."

The climb was not nearly as easy as she had indicated to Roxton it would be, as she had known, and probably he did too. The groove eroded by the spring was indeed deep enough to pretty much hide her from anyone who might be on that ledge, but there were not enough strong handholds in the scrubby brush sprouting from the rocks amidst the dampness left by the spring's meager output. She had to rely on jutting rocks and small indentations.

The heat of the sun on her head and back was a bitter reminder of how close that orb was to reaching the top of its climb before starting it's descent into the west. They were not allowed mistakes now. If they were wrong, and this ledge was not the Goth's hiding place, no time would remain to do any further searching. Tancred would kill their three hostages with no remorse. Veronica knew enough of the reputation of the Goths–from Marguerite and Roxton and from others she had known over the years–to realize they killed without compunction. They ruled by fear. She also knew that the two men would likely be killed first; Tancred would hold Marguerite for his trump card over Roxton.

When she finally gained enough height to peer out over toward the ledge, Veronica breathed a sigh of relief. She saw the four unkempt men squatting in the dirt, apparently in a heated conversation. No sign of the hostages, but she could see a shadowy indentation from her vantage point which might well be a cave. Swiftly she retrieved the mirror and flashed it. Then she began her descent.

####

"Any luck?" Malone whispered. He almost hated to make any noise, even his own voice, as it exacerbated the throbbing in his head. Though he could not lift a hand to touch it, he was certain a knot had been raised on the side of his skull; at least it did not seem to have been bleeding. Orvin was leaning against the wall, his head back and eyes closed, but Malone did not think he was sleeping. 

"It's loose," Marguerite replied, "but not loose enough."

"I can see the shadows out there. The sun is nearly noon."

"I know." 

Orvin opened his eyes. "I have been thinking."

Malone glanced at Marguerite, and saw she was as puzzled by this brief statement as he was. "What about?" he asked.

The young Moya took a breath. "There are just four out there now. If I run out there and throw myself at them, cause a great deal of confusion, the two of you can escape."

"And you'll have one less head," Marguerite responded dryly. "I don't think so."

"But you two are here because you tried to help my people. It is not right that you should be harmed. Gideon told us, Marguerite, about your man and how he cares for you."

Marguerite avoided Malone's eyes. "John Roxton and the others will do what is necessary, Orvin, to get the children to safety. Then they'll come back for us."

Ned Malone glanced at her, but did not comment. Words were unnecessary, because he was pretty certain she spoke the truth. He would probably do the same if the roles had been reversed, if Veronica had been captured instead of himself. No, he revised his thoughts instantly. He would send the others to help the children and seek to rescue Veronica by himself, if necessary. While still unclear about his feelings for her, and hers for him, he knew he would have wanted to try to help her–or die trying.

With all that, he still hoped that Veronica had not decided to do the same, to try to rescue him–and Marguerite and Orvin–alone. With all her skills, she would be no match against the brutal Goths by herself. He would not want to see the beautiful young woman in the hands of these barbarians. Bad enough that Marguerite might be subject to their brutality.

"What are you thinking about, Malone?" Marguerite asked, noticing the angry frown on the young man's handsome face.

He displayed mild chagrin. "Oh, nothing much."

"If he is like me," Orvin said with a sad smile, "He is thinking of his sweetheart. The woman promised to me is with the party that was supposed to be leading the Goths away from the children. I swore to her I would join her again and it looks like I won't keep my vow."

Marguerite forbore from teasing Malone about his "sweetheart." She thought it very unlikely he would have been thinking about the publisher's daughter back in London. Over the months she had noticed the attraction between Malone and Veronica, and was sometimes amused by it, since neither seemed to comprehend just what to do about it. Not a whole lot different than what occurred between herself and John Roxton–and yet very different.

A loud curse from outside the cave drew her attention and thoughts away from romance. Tancred was on his feet, pointing an angry finger at one of his men. "You will do as I command! Cyan is a stupid fool, just like Bogon. Cowards, all of them. Likely they have run away. You will go find them. Kill them if necessary and bring me their heads."

As the pair glared at each other, Marguerite saw how the other two men had backed away to the perimeter of the ledge, their faces revealing they did not wish to take sides at this moment. This man who was defying Tancred must have more guts than his companions She had no doubt there had been many objections about Tancred's leadership, remembering what Gideon had told them. Most men probably kept their complaints to themselves, especially if it came to choosing between Cyan and Tancred. Best to remain neutral and remain alive.

"Do you think it's possible?" Malone whispered.

"I don't know," Marguerite replied. She did _not_ know and she did not want to give either man, or herself, false hopes, since it was all too possible that Cyan and the other sent out to check on the movements of Gideon's band had decided to desert, considering how angry Cyan had been, or one had fallen asleep as Cyan suggested and when Cyan then reached him, with orders to kill a slacker, they had gotten into a fight, or Anything was possible. Anything.

She clamped her teeth on the knot and jerked as hard as she could. The knot finally loosened. Carefully she wriggled her wrists and got enough slack in the ropes that she could slip one wrist free, though she did not at the moment, her eyes constantly on the two men arguing at the cave mouth. The rage of both men was growing, their faces becoming more florid with the rising volume of their voices. The other two men were slowly but surely moving away, and were nearly out of sight through the cave entrance.

"Malone." 

At Marguerite's whisper, Ned looked up and saw her success. Carefully he shifted his body so that his back was toward the low rock on which she was seated. With her gaze on the cave mouth, she reached down and worked at the bindings on his arms.

####

As Veronica joined Roxton at the base of the long narrow pathway that led upward to the ledge, both heard the loud, angry voices. Veronica looked at her companion. "Sounds like someone is having a major disagreement."

"Yes. Let's hope it last long enough to keep them occupied. They wait!"

Both saw the shadows at the same moment, and froze. Veronica pressed up against the cliff wall, while Roxton slid toward the outer edge, ducking behind a not quite large enough boulder. Two men were sidling down the path, away from the ledge area, for the moment keeping their eyes on whatever was occurring on top of the ledge.

John Roxton knew that any moment he and Veronica were going to be spotted. As soon as either man turned, which was inevitable if they continued down the slight path, they would see the intruders. To make any movement, any noise, now would only call attention to themselves. Catching Veronica's eye, Roxton pulled one of the revolvers from his harness, and she followed suit by drawing the gleaming knife out of her boot.

Then the man closest to them stepped on a loose rock and, catching his balance against the wall, turned his head. "Intruders!" he yelled, lifting the spear he held to hurl it.

Roxton fired. With a scream, the man tumbled over the edge. His companion yelled some kind of warning and started back up the pathway, and Roxton fired again. This time, because of the man's movements, he only nicked the shoulder, eliciting a cry of pain and rage, but not halting the man, who disappeared at the ledge top.

"Damn it! Damn it!" John Roxton cursed over and over. He knew what would happen next, and Veronica's grim countenance revealed she knew as well. Tancred would bring out the hostages.

####

They heard the shot just as Marguerite succeeded in loosening the knot on Malone's bonds. Forgetting the necessity for caution, both got to their feet. Malone grabbed Orvin and pulled him with them off to the side of the cave mouth. 

"I wish we had a weapon," he whispered.

"We've got surprise on our side." She was trying to undo Orvin's bonds, but perhaps because he had been tied up longer, the knots appeared to be even more secure, tightened by the movements of Orvin's body.

The yells of anger and confusion among the three Goths subsided into a low murmur of conversation. Not difficult to guess what their strategy would be. Both Malone and Marguerite knew that someone would be entering the cave to grab a hostage. They had no idea who fired the shot, but it certainly meant that at least one of their own had come for them. Roxton. Marguerite was surprised at the pleasure she experienced, but it was quickly tempered by fear. If any one of the three prisoners was presented as a hostage, Roxton or Challenger or Veronica would have no choice.

"Get the woman!" Tancred shrieked, and a shadow darkened the entrance of the cave.

Marguerite was next to the entrance, and she kicked toward the back of the knee of the man as he stepped inside, aware that as he came into the dim cave from the bright sunshine he would experience a moment of blindness. The force of her kick and the surprise sent him hurtling to the cave floor with a loud cry, and Malone leaped on his back, clasping both fists together to pound down on the back of the man's head.

The first blow stunned him, and Marguerite could now see it was an underling; he had a bloody arm. She stepped around and aimed another kick, this time connecting with her hard boot toe against the temple. He fell limp. Malone and Marguerite leaped back to the side of the entrance again.

"What's going on in there?" Tancred demanded, outside the cave entrance. He was too wary to step inside himself. "Ah, I see our friends have cleverly freed themselves. Never mind. You can't come out. You have no weapons."

"But we do," Malone muttered, and swiftly grabbed the knife that was in the belt of the unconscious man. He used it to slice Orvin's bonds.

Tancred moved away and a moment later they heard his shout. "You down there! Throw down your weapons and surrender or your friends are dead."

Where was the other man, Malone wondered, and whispered the query to Marguerite. She shook her head. With the sun straight up in the sky, no shadows were visible. They could see fairly well to the opposite site of the cave entrance from where they stood, but that man, the one who had been arguing with Tancred, was not in view.

Orvin suddenly hurtled across the cave mouth to the other side, pressing himself flat against the wall. The gestures he made then were plain: he saw the missing man hovering outside of the cave on the same side as Malone and Marguerite, apparently waiting for them to attempt to emerge.

Marguerite caught the eyes of both her companions, then stepped into the cave mouth as though she was going to try to emerge. The man who had been lurking moved to grab her, and Malone and Orvin seized him by the arm. Malone used the hilt of the knife to slam against his head as hard as he could, and the man slumped to the floor. Quickly they dragged him over near his companion, still unconscious, but with hands bound with the ropes formerly used on the captives.

"Do you want your woman's bloody corpse?" Tancred yelled. "I will throw her down to you!"

Roxton's breath caught in his throat as he heard the hoarse shout. Across from him, Veronica's eyes widened in horror with the same thoughts. Had Marguerite been harmed? She saw Roxton's hands tighten on the two pistols he was holding, and the fury begin to burn in his eyes. She was about to speak, to urge him to caution, when the next shout echoed down the trail.

"John! I'm all right! We're all in the cave!"

Pure relief caused John Roxton to close his eyes for a moment. Malone's voice followed Marguerite's. "There's just one left now! All he has is a knife!"

The next sounds turned relief to horror, for a man's shriek of rage was followed by a woman's scream. With no conscious thought, Roxton charged up the trail, vaguely aware that Veronica was close behind him. Upon reaching the ledge, both halted, bewildered. No one was in sight.

Inside the cave, Tancred had struggled fiercely with the three hostages, his rage-fueled strength nearly equal to the two rather slightly built men and the woman. He had entered with knife drawn, obviously intending to grab Marguerite, but the prisoners had used a similar trick as on his henchman a short while ago. However, Tancred was much stronger than that man, and unwounded.

One blow from Tancred's meaty fist struck Malone's cheek, and caused that young man to falter momentarily, giving Tancred the opportunity to grab Marguerite by the throat. It was at that moment that Orvin seized the knife from the stunned Malone's hand, and plunged it into Tancred's chest.

Moments after Roxton and Veronica reached the wide ledge and halted in caution and confusion, Marguerite strolled out of the cave, a smile of triumph on her face. "You're late. Fun's over." Behind her came Malone and a man neither Roxton nor Veronica had seen before, but realized from his resemblance must be Elric's brother, Orvin.

"Are you all right?" Veronica demanded, her eyes scanning the trio. Marguerite's wrists were reddened, and she could see a bruise at the edge of Malone's temple and another just now darkening on his cheekbone, while Orvin seemed to have had the worst of it, several bruises showing on his face. All three were dirty and disheveled.

"What the hell happened?" Roxton asked. "Where's Tancred and the other men"

Marguerite jerked a thumb toward the cave. "In there. Unconscious. Maybe dead. I don't much give a damn." 

When Roxton cautiously entered the cave he found three men sprawled on the ground. Two men were unconscious, one of whom was the one he wounded earlier. An older, larger man was dead, a knife buried to the hilt in his chest.

Malone began to relate the story, but was soon interrupted. "I took the knife from Marguerite," Orvin stated proudly. "He deserved to die. Many of my people died because of his orders."

"Well," Veronica opined, "Maybe you didn't need our help after all."

"I think we did," Malone smiled. "Especially if you took care of the first pair that were sent to look for the band of children."

"I guess we did our part," Roxton said. "We'll take the two living ones with us to convince their fellows that both their leaders are dead. That should bring peace."

"At least for a while," Orvin agreed, and Roxton knew what he meant. Until some other leader of the Goths arose and persuaded his people to attempt to conquer the Moya.

####

Veronica glanced at the man walking beside her. "So how did you get captured?" Orvin was several yards ahead of them, herding their two prisoners.

"Stupidity. What else? I heard someone moan and went to see what it was. They grabbed me."

"Not so stupid," she smiled, touching his arm briefly. "Just being caring."

"Thanks." 

She could tell he was not entirely convinced that she understood. She knew he felt the shadow of Roxton's bravado, and for that matter her own survival skills. "How's your head?"

"Better. I hope Challenger can brew one of Summerlee's teas. Thanks for coming after us, by the way. We weren't sure."

Suddenly chagrined under the warmth of his blue eyes, Veronica looked straight ahead of her. "Well, I couldn't let Roxton come alone. We didn't know how many Goths there were."

Malone merely smiled. He looked around behind them. "Where's Marguerite and Roxton?"

"Oh, they're back there somewhere."

####

"Pretty proud of yourself, aren't you?"

Marguerite looked at him. "Why not? It's not every day a gal gets to defeat the powerful leader of the Goths." Her lips formed a smug smile.

"You did have help."

"What makes you think I needed it?"

Roxton was silent for a long moment, then he stopped walking. "The damnedest thing happened."

She paused as well and turned to look at him. "What do you mean?"

"When Veronica and I were trying to follow your trail, and not having much success, I thought"

Marguerite gazed at him, wondering at the near embarrassed expression on his face. "What?"

"Well, I thought I heard you say my name. It sounded so damn real, and right next to me. I turned around, and saw at the stream bank, where you left a heel mark."

"Oh." Would that have been about the time she had been having such strong thoughts about him? "I left that mark deliberately."

"I thought so."

For a long moment their eyes met. Marguerite felt the pull, like a magnet, and only with the strongest of will, and a ragged breath, she turned away. "We'd better keep moving."

"I guess we'd better. Got a long walk ahead of us."

He fell into step alongside her, not speaking. When his hand wrapped around hers, she did not pull away.

###

They reached the Moya village in late afternoon the following day. Several dozen people spilled out of the gate in the high wall that surrounded the settlement to greet them. Challenger emotionally shook the hands of both Malone and Roxton, revealing the strain he had been under, especially when he hugged not only Veronica but an abashed Marguerite, who tried not to reveal just how much the display affected her.

The little girl flew through the mass of adults and threw her arms around Marguerite's waist. "I knew you'd be all right. I knew it!" The she turned her face up toward the tall man. "You listened, didn't you? I told you to listen!"

Roxton flicked a glance toward Marguerite. "Didn't I tell you I _always_ listen to Marguerite, Fira? I'm no fool."

Not completely comprehending what was going on, Challenger put a hand on Roxton's shoulder. "You need some rest, and it looks like your arm could stand some tending. We need to make an early morning start to reach the remainder of the Moya and inform the Goths of the changes that have occurred."

"I want some food," Marguerite complained, unaware immediately that her hand had once more slipped within the large one of the man beside her.

Gideon heard her words as he strode toward them to shake Roxton's free hand. "There's food inside. And when all our people are united, we shall have a great feast, a celebration to honor our heroic friends. Everyone will want to hear the tale, over and over."

John Roxton grinned and tightened his grip on the hand that now tried to pull away. "I'm sure that there's at least one person here who won't mind telling it to you, in all her glory."

Fira gazed up at the pair, her eyes widening. "Now you're _both_ glowing!"


End file.
